Metamorphosis
by DerMonde
Summary: He smells of sand.Of deserts and of spices;of the hot winds and the cool Nile.Intoxicating….again my thoughts circle to him. And I am lost within my recollections of a godling with crimson eyes and a baritone voice.Yaoi YY*Y Y*YB YM*M*Ryou.Rated Mature
1. Down the RabbitHole

_Disclaimer: I do not, in anyway, own Yu-gi-oh. I receive no monetary gain for my writings.  
_

_Un _

It's been two years since he left me on that porch. Two fucking years and I've waited oh god's I've waited; pining in this crap apartment littered with old piss stains and cockroach feces....He said he'd be back-he just needed to find himself-discover himself and (I suppose he couldn't do that with me there now could he?) he'd just be gone a few months…nothing to fret about darling….don't fret.  
The furnace is broken and it's freezing, my hair is frozen into sharp spikes rough and unbending and God where are my toes…why can't I feel my fucking toes? I can't stay here I can't live here I can't-

A harsh pounding on the front door jars me from my thoughts…

(He's back, yes he came back. I told you he'd be back you silly twat-)

"Who-" my voice cracks, scratchy from disuse (my prolonged silence has left its scar), I cleared my throat hastily and threw open the door, "Yami! You're home! I've missed you where" my voice crashes to a stop. Traffic Accident, blinking red stop lights and there are no survivors. Only flesh and paint.  
"You're late on your rent AGAIN Motou. More specifically, for the third time in the past five months."  
My mind is fractured. I thought-I thought-  
"Hey, freak the fucking rent. I gave you a week."  
"I-I'm sorry, um I don't have it but if you just give me a couple days-"  
"A couple of fucking days, so what, you can whore yourself out for it? Don't think I don't know what you do you little slut."  
I'm staring at him and what the hell is he saying? I'm so tired, why can't he just leave me be?  
"Please, I-"  
He lifts his hand (covered in grime and shit and please don't let him touch me, please-)  
"I want you out by two. You understand me faggot?"  
Everything's moving so quickly. I can't focus. Can't grasp reality. It's torn from my limp hands. I stare at his back as he lumbers down the graffiti splattered hallway. I cling to the open door. No, I can't leave-how would he find me? If I left the only place we've ever known. If I left our little plot of heaven (hell). He'll be lost to me forever.  
(Not that it matters. You're so pathetic. He's not coming back. Not to you. Not to this life of crack and Alice-not to this wasteland. So stupid, to imagine him happy-satisfied)

The time passes in a void. I find myself on the cracked cement with a dollar in my pocket and bag across my back. The only things that I own…I meander down the empty street-ignoring the swift glances from the junkies and the settled stares from the pimps. Nineteen years old and nothing to my name. The sun falls bleeding across the horizon, a smeared crimson sky. So much like blood (like his eyes) He must have committed the ultimate sin, to pacify the Silver Queen; a blood offering made in love-in obsession conversion in a Carney spell.

It's disheartening that this is the only place left for me. The only place I have left. The building vibrates. A monster in a cage chained for the amusement of the blank-eyed humans, foolish mortals who gape (mouths hanging open dribbling saliva and ivory pieces of bone, noses powder white and eyes filled with dying stars).

The Giant in the front greets me with a nod, even in these thrift store rags and with this haggard unmasked face I am recognized as the fallen light. I enter the labyrinth weaving my way past the S&M vampires and the Drag Queen Faeries. My dressing room is nothing but a little hole in the wall covered with a scrap of lace littered with glitter. Nothing is hidden here-nothing sacred. I gaze at my drawn face bled red from the tinted glass-makes me wonder how my face paint can look anything but gaudy- tawdry. Though I am seven hours too early, I begin to dress. White garters lace slip and pretty ribbon shoes. Why is false innocence so alluring? My eyes a perfect fake. Wide and so Doe-like. Amethyst and Jesus fucking Christ I still look ten. Like such a child, such a sweet little boy-or girl-hard to tell these days really. They're all fucking pedophiles. Wanting to taint innocence, drink from the nectar of virgins-Ambrosia….do they think it will grant them immortality?

My bird hands flutter around my hair…so long now….I wonder if he would recognize me. His lost Hikari. I make my way to the stage. Into the cage now little birdie…won't you sing them a song. Won't you croon to them-satisfy their every desire with your voice heaven sent? I perch. Swinging my lace covered legs over the metal bar. Time moves like we're in a kaleidoscope. Changing, shifting, a true metamorphosis. If only I could be so versatile. To be reborn-transfigured into something new, something pure. My voice a soft wail-I sing of things forgotten an alluring tune of strung together consonants and vowels and things perhaps lost to the modern human tongue….I sing of him.

There is blood across the floor staining my little cage brilliant vermillion. There is a panic. People rushing for the exists, pushing and shoving and scrambling and screaming….their survival instincts kick in, all morality crushed like wisps of butterfly wings, like the poor fools beneath the masses, trampled out of existence by heavy feet . I descend from my swing; I feel like an animal on exhibit. Or maybe like the last sane human on earth, watching the destruction of man, witnessing the Apocalypse in my little glass box. A scream interrupts my ramblings-grounding me completely. No I am not special. No I am not significant. I am a part of this destruction. I am not exempt. Slowly a ball of fire (of wild blazing fear a furnace of panic and what dread grasp dare its deadly terrors clasp-). A new voice joins the cacophony, high and shrill and shattering glass. It takes me a moment to realize the inhuman shrieking (exploding stars and imploding worlds) stems not from a daemon, here to witness the final battle, not from the throats of apathetic angels; no, this voice, so familiar, so foreign, screeching its terror in a waifish wail, is none other than my very own…

I am ripped (bones crunching scraping and thank god there's no pop) from the bars of my cell. My voice reaching a crescendo-

"Shut the hell up you little shit. Do you _want_ them to catch you? Standing here in the fucking open sniveling, are you mentally retarded?"

He yanks me from my cage, ripping my stockings-tiny white pieces of lace fluttering around my feet like breadcrumbs. He is tall-too tall-imposing and fierce…perhaps I should have taken my chances in the cage. But no, I discard the idea as swiftly as I think it. I would be dead (eyes glazed empty and frozen so fucking frozen rotting for eternity) if this phantom, this Lucifer had not taken notice of me-

The grip on my wrist is harsh, firm, but it anchors me. I will wear his violet bruise wish bracelet in exchange for stability safety fortification.

My (savior, Morning Star, Master?) grunts as he pushes against the crusted window.

"Um," my voice _shudders_, still weak from my earlier performance, "that window doesn't open. It hasn't for over twenty years."

"Oh really?" his voice drawls...

A cynic. Why do I always attract the fucking cynics? With their sarcastic (Narcissistic) flair and Pinot Noir dry humor….

A crash splinters my consciousness and his elbow is through the window….or what was previously a window anyway.

He moves his arm, knocking stray glass out of the frame. I hear an intake of breath…a hiss, serpentine in nature and I glance up worriedly-

"A-Are you okay?"

He grunts (grunting and sighing seem to generate most of his vocabulary apparently)

"I'm fine runt. Come here."

I squeak as I'm suddenly lifted into the air and out the window. Weightless for a moment, before gravity plays its role and sends me plummeting to the ground-which is, fortunately, only a few feet below. I roll quickly a tangle of limbs and Lucifer lands deftly on the balls of his feet…must have been a thief in his former life….that or a carnival freak-

I twitch. The cold seeping into my thin ballet flats. Soaking them completely before I attempt to kick off the troublesome snow

"Just what the hell are you doing, ma petite?"

"Um the snow a-and my shoe and um" fantastic. I'm a stuttering idiot.

He laughs. A harsh bark of forced air.

I pout. Or something of the sort. Then I sneeze. Yes I am fierce aren't I?

My wrist is grabbed again-am I sensing a pattern?

"Moron, you'll freeze out here. Stop spacing out. And what the fuck are you wearing? You a whore or something?" His eyebrow arches (almost exactly like _him_) and my face turns an alarming red hue.

"Shit, you're not getting fucking sick are you?"

I shake my head. A wave of vertigo washes over me…when did we start moving?

Down deserted streets painted black filled with shadows upon shadows. I fight down my fear. The halo above his head (how can his hair naturally form horns anyway?) illuminates the night. Glowing like the moon. So arrogant, so sure as he weaves his way through the maze of the underworld. The underbelly of humanity. It should frighten me that he knows it so well, to maneuver without sight or sound. But, again, I am oddly comforted…he is so much like him, it makes me ache…an unfair de ja vu. Trick of the gods….worse than children. Have they no sympathy?

He pulls me to him as he effortlessly vaults a wall long legs stretching (and I fucking swear he must be wearing thousand league boots…no one moves that fast…nothing human anyway), and I briefly nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder and against his white white bird's nest (rat's nest) hair. He smells of sand. Of deserts and of spices; of the hot winds and the cool Nile. Intoxicating….again my thoughts circle to him. And I am lost within my recollections of a godling with crimson eyes and a baritone voice.

Ice crystals gather in my hair, little transparent ornaments fragile pieces of glass, and I am reminded vaguely of hot hot chocolate and melted marshmallows and cuddling by the fire in the sphere of his opulence (a thought brushing up against my mind briefly, I ache and my heart splinters-) and when was the last time I decorated a Christmas tree? I reach my tongue out to taste the sweetness of winter, of the splendor that can only be the end. Signaling rebirth and growth and oh so hallowed.

He reminds me of winter. This white haired fiend.

"Here" he thrusts a piece of coarse fabric into my face, "It's clean…I think. Get in the fucking bath before you catch pneumonia"

I am thrust into a closet.

"There, the shower doesn't work so just fill up the tub. Oh and if you fancy warm water I'd advise you to hurry."

The flurry of winter is gone; swept up in a blizzard of grunting and swift movements and the slamming of a door. I am alone with the brown–stained tub (and are those blood stains? Dark, clotted chocolate? Reminds me briefly of that one Hitchcock film, Psycho I think…or something of that nature. I did not find it so intriguing…nothing really interesting about a murderous drag queen…I've seen worse. I truly only watched it for him. He has (had?) a deep obsession with everything Hitchcock.)

There is no mirror, only a chipped porcelain sink with green growth lining the basin. I see something move and I step back quickly. A harsh noise snaps my neck towards the closed door.

"I don't hear the fucking water running brat? Do you know how to work the taps, or am I overestimating your intelligence? "

This brief reprimanding has me hurrying towards the clawed bathtub. I place the moth eaten, coarse cloth on the ledge and reach out to turn the taps. I have to try three times before I am rewarded with a mind shaking groan and a harsh spurt of water. I entertain the thought of bullets hitting the basin and blood coating the curtain and a body with no head floating limply like a drowned mermaid...not that mermaids are capable of drowning of course-I think...I disrobe quickly (though the water is a cloudy brown) recalling the time limit of sufficiently heated water

The cracked baignoire fills quickly and I am fighting with the rusted facets. Water leaks onto the floor coating the hard splintered, what was once, tile, in a thin reflective sheen.

I sink into the water. My lanky and emaciated legs, blue tracked and wax smooth, float idly, my knobby knees thrust through the surface; I draw them in, a defensive position.

I feel like Marie Antoinette. Dwarfed by this beast of cold porcelain. It saddens me, her death. She was just a kid, thrust into a horrid position, married to a man that could care less for her. Only finding happiness in beauty. Is it wrong to want beautiful things?

Another knock…

My fiend is quite impatient is he not?

Though this is not unexpected, what is, however, very surprising is when the door is pushed open exposing a floating head.

I make a sound of discomfort (I did _Not _squeal) and sink into the tub.

"You almost done kid? 'Cuz if you want food you better get your ass out here."

I nod. Only my eyes visible above the rim. He smirks.

"Why so shy, lovey?"

"D-Don't look…please" my voice no more than a whisper, like silk compared to his gravely (broken glass) tone.

He chuckles and my face flares.

"Hurry your ass up before Mariku eats your share." Door closes and I can breathe......what the hell is a Mariku?

I climb out, shivering and stumbling. I quickly wrap the towel around my body. Glancing around my gaze falls on my soaked, torn up tights. Impossible and improbable to get into once again...I open the door, cautiously and shit it's cold. I hop around, not that this actually helps mind you, but merely because it grants a quick respite from the glacier floor.

"Um…Excuse me?" I struggle to make my voice louder. (Project Yuugi Project.). I make another half-hearted attempt to attract attention. I give up before I even try. Better to just find him, rather than yell my bloody head off like an idiot. I'm nearly impossible to hear unless I'm singing…and singing is not really an option. I scoff lightly at the mental image. Me, serenading Lucifer to my side to ask him for some sweats….every girl's (boy's?) wet-dream fantasy. I should write romance novels. Not like you actually need talent for that.

I digress. It's quite cold and my fiend is nowhere in sight. I ascend the rickety spiral staircase. (It won't _actually_ give out on me right?) Though the deep mournful groans do nothing to stabilize my confidence…

What to do what to do? Should I continue at a snail pace inching one tiny foot before the other, praying that the next step shall not be my death…or sprint up them like a bat out of Hell marathon runner and grit my teeth and bite the bullet….I debate silently. I do despise such conundrums…unless it's a game of course…

The snail pace wins out….I never said I was courageous.

I ascend biting my lip and holding my breath, as if that would make me lighter…

I've never climbed a longer staircase. But this is hardly surprising in this day and age, the era of the elevator and all things technological.

The climb lasts for eternity. Nothing to occupy my mind but the spider-silk covered walls and my undeterred fright. I hear noises; I must be nearing the edge of this infernal stairwell…

The light beckons me, pulls me from the bowels of hell and I can breathe. It takes a moment; my eyes, to adjust to the bright splendor of, what was once, I'm sure, a perfectly quaint drawing room. Shivering I walk to the window, the frosted glass almost art really, and peer out. I do not recognize the surroundings…there is nothing…nothing but snow, a blanket of white against the harsh slate gray of the sky. I must have just missed the rising of Re'.

A creak draws my attention back towards the room.

"Oh! 'Kura, I found her. She's in here."

His voice, so soft. I wonder how it travels? He must be British. The rolling of his vowels can be nothing but English born and bred.

He looks just like my Lucifer, but tamer...lighter, somehow. His brown eyes (how can an albino have _brown_ eyes?) peer into my own, and oh dear, has he been speaking this entire time?

"Um, I'm sorry. But I was just looking for my fien-um I mean the white-haired man who brought me here."

Funny how my stuttering is suddenly absent…maybe it's only in front of him perhaps?

"Oh dear, you're shivering. You poor thing…'Kura, bring me those blasted clothes. How could you leave the poor thing alone... Look, she'll catch her death."

"Oh quit your carping boy, you're worse than a woman."

And he's here. And he is still as glorious as when he ripped me from my swing.

He comes, bringing offerings. No gifts. He is the god, not I.

"O-oh hello." I glance up and he's smirking again-that must be his natural demeanor.

I am immediately reminded of my state of undress. This coarse fabric does nothing to hide anything…(though it must, did they just call me a _she_?)

"Here, put that on brat."

"Kura, don't talk to her like that. You'll frighten the poor thing. I'm surprised she's not raving mad already just from standing in your presence."

"Hush you."

His voice is soft. So soft when he speaks to his lighter half. Nothing like the gravel I have grown accustomed to.

I reach my hand out for the clothes in his limp grasp. They're soft and Jesus they're warm. I shudder and tug at them and why won't he fucking let go?

"C-can I have them, please?" my voice, hardly there. And I'm sure my lips are berry-stained blue.

" 'Kura, for God's sake, can you give her the bloody clothes?"

His eyes roll, a sarcastic sweep. It looks like it hurts…

And I am greeted with an armful of warm fabric. I nuzzle my face into the material. The smell is heavenly, soft and _clean_. How I've missed the smell of clean things…

I hear a chuckling and a soft giggle. I really must quit this god-awful habit of spacing out-It cannot be healthy and, quite frankly, it's growing to be rather embarrassing. They must think I'm mentally deficient.

"Is that the little creature you found on your way home Bakura?! It's so cute! Can I keep it? Please!"

The voice is deep but oddly lilted, childlike almost….it's rather disturbing.

I am attacked by a huge animal with dark violet eyes and a head that I _think _is covered with blonde hair…dear god…is that _really_ his hair?

I arch away and seek safety from my fiend.

"Mariku. Knock it off. I stole her. So she's mine."

Ah, so that's a Mariku.

And again with the bloody _she_ business. I'd best correct that immediately to salvage whatever pride I may yet possess…

"I'm _Not_ a girl. I'm a boy."

Suddenly I have three sets of eyes staring at me and when did I conclude that this was a good idea?

"um…."

"You're shitting me."

"Kura, must you be so bloody vulgar?!"

"As if you're not fucking surprised? I don't believe it. Prove it."

"W-what?"

"You heard me kid. Prove it."

This is utterly insane. And the Mariku is chuckling in the background and all I want is to put on some blasted clothes

So, disregarding his cold-yet peculiarly smoldering, piercing eyes, my heat deprived brain throws proper etiquette (and any rational thought processes) into the abyss and I quickly shed the dirty towel.

I hear a number of things.

Sharp and sudden intakes of forced air seems to be most prevalent.

I must not dwell on it-I may die of mortification.

Best just to be done with it.

Really.

I quickly shrug into the thick sweater and worn jeans. It's paradise.

Do I dare meet their gaze and ask for a hairbrush…

I bite my lip, Jesus what the fuck did I just do?

I hear a choked coughing. A wheezing almost. And the Mariku is on the floor.

I think he's laughing

Or dying

One of the two anyway.

My face is on fire and I think I have suffered enough indignation for the evening thank you fucking much-

"And just what, pray tell, is so bloody amusing?"

This seems to have a contradictory effect. Instead of shaming the animal on the floor into some semblance of propriety, I have, instead, created a like creature. For there, on the faded, worn rug is my fiend.

I really do give up.

And with that thought I turn swiftly, my arms wrapped across my torso and my face drawn into a pout of the most dramatic nature-bloody idiots.

A warm hand descends upon my shoulder and I glance up halfheartedly.

"Don't mind them. They haven't quite evolved yet."

This brings a smile to my lips promptly replacing my forlorn countenance. I like this sweet look-alike fiend. He is perhaps the most calm and benevolent human I've ever stumbled across.

And yes! Are those little cakes?!

My eyes grow wide and round and I think I begin to salivate…

"um…are those for me?"

He smiles and nods.

"Yes, I figured you might be hungry. Help yourself. They're still warm."

And with this permission I am possessed with greed and gluttony. I hurriedly stuff one into my mouth, cream pouring from between my clenched lips-

These are positively orgasmic….

Forgive me father for I have sinned and it felt so fucking good

"Hey, don't choke brat. We need your voice…and wipe your mouth for Christ sake…unless you plan to put your pretty lips to better use."

Needlessly to say I turn blush rose and wipe my mouth with my hands.

"M-my voice?"

"Yeah-you're voice. Our singer fucking blew his brains out so we're in the market."

And he steals one of my cakes-

Wait-singer? "Like in a band?"

"Yeah, _like_ in a band. So you in or what?"

"Uh…" me in a band….what a preposterous idea….I can't possibly and

"Stop eating my cakes"

"What?"

"Those cakes are mine. _He _said so" and I point to the soft boy.

"Heh, I'll eat whatever the fuck I want." And he snatches the plate from my hands and waltzes to the love seat.

"B-but…_He_ said-" and I stop because really, does it look like my fiend cares?

I watch as another sweet little pastry disappears into that mouth full of sharp ivory and I _want_ my cakes-

"If I say yes, can I have those back _please_?"

I am aware that I am whining, but really, desperate times call for desperate measures.

The fiend holds them out enticingly… "So, then, do we have a deal ma petite?"

My gaze falls to the sweet little cream-filled pies and I nod quickly.

"Good. We start rehearsal now."

And he shoves the plate into my awaiting arms….

And glides out of the decrepit drawing room like the King of France.

Why do I have the ominous feeling that I just bartered away my soul to the Devil himself….  
And for nothing more than fucking little cakes…..  
I think I was just ripped off….  
Shit

Oh well,  
What is the price of a soul today really?  
The soul that is of no use to anyone….  
I'm sure I shall not miss it

And my eyes wander to the Mariku on the floor still rolling around-and is he talking to himself?  
…I hope that's only red paint….  
Mon Dieu….  
Just what have I gotten myself into?

------------------------------------------

Three hours and two plates of sweets later and I am in this room of glass and spider black twisting wires.  
The scruffy hooker boots I'm borrowing catch on one and I fall.  
I don't like this.

"Okay get your shit. We'll start with Le fleur. Ryou, in three."

"Mariku, stop fucking around eh? We have a show in two days. Get your ass over here and set up."

My fiend is quite bossy. Though he is intimidating I wonder what he's done to this is Mariku…to have him jump on command. A sad haunting sound fills the air startling me I kneel, here on this glass floor and listen to Ryou play his violin….he is extraordinary. An angel trapped in a Carbon based creature dreaming of heaven.

The keening pitch  
The screaming strings  
The tremulous bow  
So sad  
Tears fall and words form  
And I'm crooning and wailing  
And I don't even notice Bakura smirk or Mariku laugh  
And then there's a rough beat, making me tremble  
I'm sure I've never heard instruments played like this

And soon the sun is setting, flashing across my closed eyelids burning the room. I feel as though we are in a rose-stained prism. Or as if I am gazing out of my little Rosy red glasses.  
I remember nothing of the rehearsal. Only the tune and the swift whirling sound of my voice and the bobbing of Mariku's head and the swing of Bakura's rocking swagger. Only Ryou holds absolutely still. Caught and trapped in the purity of his wavering fingers.  
I haven't felt this full since he left.  
Those long two years…  
I feel wanted  
Needed.

And a sort of peace descends…

He has left me to discover the world,  
So I will force the world to discover me.  
Every city and every town will know my face

I was once worthless,  
Disgusting,  
gullible

But with my White Haired Fiend  
And this soft eyed Angel  
And mad Cheshire cat  
I have no doubts that we will emerge

(Climbing from the depths of Dante's Hell)

The world will hear  
The world will Listen

Even if we must silence the masses  
Rip away their noise

Only to give it back as something glorious  
Profound-

We will be the new gods  
A new era will arise

And perhaps then  
My godling

Perhaps then we can meet in the middle once more and you will see me worthy.

_Deux_

The night of our first show had me vomiting in the public bathroom sink.  
My head felt bloated and it rang with the steady thumping of the bass vibrating the interior of the club.

The club's not really a building –  
More like a warehouse

It's so fucking freezing in here. I even resorted to wearing Mariku's thick fake fur coat.  
It's absolutely hideous  
But I can't really be too picky…

Standing here in this painted on leather outfit.  
At least it's authentic….

I look more like a boy now,  
But just barely….

Bakura attacked my hair with egg whites and glue. Said my hair wasn't "punk" or something of the sort.  
I didn't realize "punk" meant walking around with hair that couldn't bend, as though I had just stuck my finger into an electrical socket….but that's not the real reason I mind of course.  
It's not really Bakura's fault. How was he to know that this same "punk" hairdo once graced _his_ head? I wailed when I looked into the splintered bathroom mirror. Like I was staring at a Doppelganger….

Bakura freaked out. Thought I was having some sort of episode. So he hollered for Ryou and slapped me across the face. I stopped once my gaze was obstructed.

Like I had returned to reality  
Became conscious of my keening  
Became sentient.

I didn't bother to explain. How could I even begin? And the thought of story time did not sound very appealing. I was-reborn. Given a new life-another fucking chance goddamnit.

Here with these people who exist in an ice castle set in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by wastelands and old rundown factories that grin at you in the dark; Charred and ash ridden they loom in the distance. Sometimes I think I see a wisp of black dark sooty smoke rising to the hazy sky in a plume of dust and smog…like an atom bomb-nuclear bomb-or is it hydrogen? So many choices….

So many different ways to die.

We make an appearance in less than five minutes and I am kneeling here, breathing through my vomit-glazed mouth attempting to avoid the stench of too many one-night fucks and old urine.  
Smell or taste  
Not much of a trade off  
Honestly speaking…

Mariku comes sweeping in; wearing a top hat and little else.

"Hey Hey Hey. We start in like two minutes!"

Eyes wide and I wish I could be as oblivious as him. So much faith. He is dancing around the bathroom. Ducking in and out of stalls and banging his hands on the sinks. He starts to play around with the urinals and I quickly rise to stop him. God only knows what's on those metal handles…and Mariku isn't prone to washing his hands before putting them in his mouth…

"Mariku, shouldn't we go find Bakura?"

and I want to bite my tongue immediately...  
what the bloody fuck?

So much for hiding out in the bathroom

Away from the lights and all that fucking noise  
what I wouldn't give for a culling song  
pull a Helen eh?

and counting one  
but really  
my hands a shaking mess as I peer over the edge  
fucking ravine and-

"K-Kura-I can't, I can't do this-"

and he gives me that look like I'm some single-cell organism  
ignorant of anything Darwin

"I heard you, that night, in the club. You sing for a living, how the fuck do you get stage fright?"

And I stutter and I groan and why can't he realize that it's not the same  
the patrons at that club didn't come to hear my voice  
they came for more _banal_ instincts

nothing to do with art  
nothing like this

and my fiend shakes his head, mutters under his breath  
"You'll do fine okay? I wouldn't have brought you home if I thought you'd eat it. So just relax. Pretend those people out there are just your normal patrons. They're desires are pretty much the same. They all want your soul, anything you give them, anything they can steal. "

and the lights dim  
and Lucifer sweeps out into the darkness, his cloak like wings and I can only stare in awe until a harsh push sends me stumbling after him-

and the world explodes  
light flooding my vision  
screams clawing into the very crevices of my mind  
and I trip and fumble my way to the center. Grasping the mic I feel my throat close and my stomach turn....the ground is moving.

And then I hear him, my Morning Star, crooning to the crowd  
and Ryou's violin begins

and my eyes bounce from one monster to the next  
they all look the same

greedy eyes mouths gaping screaming and sweating down there in the pit  
and my eyes sweep to the left

and _stop_

(crashing to a sudden halt and black spots swarm)

They catch on a glowing ember  
and my throat clears  
my stomach settles  
because my fiend was right  
this is just the same  
_always_ the same

my mouth opens and I cry and my gaze never falters  
never moves, transfixed I stare at my godling

worshipping  
just the same  
always the same

I only ever sang for him  
only for him

and like a Siren I croon to him and the embers burst and swell and

_Yami  
_

I've found you


	2. Pool of Tears

_Trois_

The show lasted for eternity. My gaze never faltered. Not once did my eyes shift.

Not once.

Never leaving the face of that angel devil daemon incarnate. He looks just the same. Hair surging towards the heavens in an array of sharp and ruthless barbs (and you would never think it soft. I was always astonished. Every time I ran my fingers through it. So soft) and his chin so proud, a snobbish, arrogant tilt.

We are in the back of the club. And I am sitting on this old red plush chair that looks like something stolen from the J. Paul Getty….who knows?  
Maybe it was taken from the Queen of England. I'm sure her royal ass has many such things to perch on.  
Unlikely for her to miss just one-unlikely she'd even notice anything different at all-

And I'm rambling again. Thoughts a sporadic mess. Churning and circling.  
And I suppose that saying is true, you always end up where you start, no matter how quickly you run, no matter how far you get.

I'm shaking.

Why do I feel such despair?

Isn't this what I wanted? What I fucking yearned for? I waited over two years…is this emotion dwelling in my breast merely fear? Resentment?

I suppose I thought that once we were together again everything would just go back-like a time turner-  
erasing the past turning back those years-but I can't make those emotions vanish.

_Does he even want to see me? _

Bakura keeps sweeping his gaze over me, I suppose he thinks it odd that I'm so quiet-melancholy. Distant.

I wipe my hands on my thighs, only to discover that this motion is quite useless with leather.

And stand, my ankles quake. I need a drink

I somehow stumble to the bar and I feel like a naïve idiot. I've never ordered a drink before-too afraid that they would card me and create some embarrassing scene.  
Not that I need to worry about that now-carding I mean. Though I look twelve I get drinks for free-  
must be some band thing.

I stare at the glowing drinks and the way the bartender's hands move-so smooth and steady. I never would have thought mixology to be such an art.  
The bartender seems to sense my discomfort and gives me a smile

"First time love?"

"Drinking? Yes. I'm usually not one for liqueur so I seem to find myself a little lost." And I blush and twist my fingers like a grade-schooler.

He laughs and begins to rummage around, shoving bottles aside. With a cry of triumph (I suppose he has discovered the missing, ambiguous ingredient) he resumes his experiment, and commences to the task of concocting some odd mixture with a flick of his wrist and a swirl with the bottle. The clinking seems to have some odd affect on me-like a sort of meditation-I find myself slumping in the bar-stool and relaxing entirely.

"Here you are love. Wrap your pretty mouth around this. I know it looks a little odd, but it's perfect for you novices…you can hardly taste the alcohol under all the sugar."

That last word catches my attention completely.

"Sugar!?"

He laughs and slides the glass down the bar.

It's pink.

And I feel a little stupid drinking something so frivolous, obviously meant for girls…

But there _is_ sugar, so I suppose I can forgive the awful coloring.

* * *

I am on my third glass when I feel a presence behind me.  
I attempt to turn my seat but merely accomplish half a rotation before my stomach begins to heave….  
I think I may be a little smashed.

The ground wavers and the lights do a little jig and I giggle

Alright  
I'm fucking smashed.

Well, there has to be a first time for everything hmm?

I feel a tap on my shoulder-and I groan inwardly. Can't I enjoy my drunkenness in fucking peace?  
Drunkenness…not sure if my usage of such a word is grammatically correct-  
And Jesus why can't this Bugger stop touching me-

I somehow find the momentum to spin around viciously.

"What?! What in the bloody name of Christ do you want? Can't you see I am pondering on the usage of proper English linguistics? It is quite important!"

And I choke on my tongue.

He arches his eyebrow and gives me a confused look-

"Yuugi, are you drunk?"

His voice, oh God, still the same still the_ fucking_ same

And I can't seem to get my tongue to move, like road kill it lies there limp and useless and oh God-

This was _not_ how I fantasized our reunion.  
(though such fantasies I know are quite unrealistic,  
there will be no great exclamations of undying love and birds won't suddenly flock out of nowhere and erupt into song.  
Life is not a Disney film, but I still feel hideously cheated.)

I pout. And cross my arms across my leather-clad torso.

"Pff…no I am not _drunk_. And I don't wanna talk to you"

His eyes widen spectacularly and I almost don't regret what my mouth just spewed. Please don't walk away please-

"Yuugi, you're drunk….and what in Osiris' name are you wearing? Are you here alone? You shouldn't be-"

And I cover my ears with Mariku's sweater sleeves, the matted faux-fur blocks the sound completely. And I watch his lips move-He hasn't changed a bloody bit and my heart begins to yearn but I crush it down stomping until it is nothing but a phantom voice, hardly there and oh so silent…..I think alcohol makes me a bitch….

He finally seemed to understand that I was paying his words no attention. It took him awhile, but with one as arrogant as he I'm not surprised. I'm sure he thinks his words so important, so fucking enlightening that everyone would bow down to listen in awe

Yeah, drinking definitely makes me a bitch

But I attempt to find my etiquette that I seem to have misplaced two glasses ago. I'm sure that in a few hours  
(when I'm sober and crying from hangover hell and shirking the light) I will beat myself for this-for letting him go again.

"Yami"

One word and his mouth closes. But I'm a little confused…since when did my voice get so deep?

"Yami. We should be leaving."

A man with brown hair and cerulean eyes stands at Yami's side.

Oh, I guess it wasn't I who spoke after all…

My head begins to hurt

And the ground begins to waver  
In and out and in and-

"Just a minute Kaiba. I…I'm just catching up with an old friend."

And I can't help it and I'm laughing except it feels like I'm crying and fuck why does this hurt so much  
Why doesn't he care?  
Old friend  
_Fuck_

The bartender is glaring at Yami and I guess I am crying because the godling looks shocked.

"Hey, you're upsetting the little one. I think you should leave." And the bartender is in front of me and my heart feels so heavy and God _why doesn't he fucking care_? _Was I that pathetic. Not even worthy of a proper goodbye. How could he leave me so broken. How could he leave me that hope that he'd be back. Only to fucking dash it- to make me feel so insignificant, so empty._

And the man with the blue eyes is talking to the bartender in a smooth voice and Yami is just staring and staring and-

"Stop it just fucking _stop_ it. Don't look at me. Stop looking at me please. _Please_"

And I'm so confused

Mortified

I'm making such a scene

But I just can't stop

I can't halt this wailing

And I hear a shushing at my side-

And I am covered and the smell of sand washes over me and I feel safe.

"What the _fuck_ did you do to Ma Petite you Bastard."

And Bakura is glaring at the godling and the godling glares back

"And just who the fuck are you?"

Yami's eyes smolder. And his face contorts into a sneer. He reaches for my arm but Bakura quickly pushes me aside.

"No you don't get to touch."

And with that I am suddenly in his arms and he's shoving his way through the crowd. And I hear Yami's voice behind us and I just want to sleep-please just let me sleep.  
The cold air hits me and it's hard to breathe. We're at the back of the club and Bakura is walking down the alley.

"Hey, just fucking wait a second."

And in one quick movement I am resting on the ground and I'm staring appalled as Bakura's fist smashes into Yami's face.

"Bakura! S-stop! please…please don't hurt him please…"

And Yami is up again and they're both on the ground snarling and spitting and kicking  
They look like those guys from fight club and there's so much blood and the sounds of the harsh splintering of bone against bone makes my teeth ache and suddenly it stops.

Ryou is crouching next to me and Mariku is holding Bakura and the blue eyed man is gripping Yami and I just feel so fucking confused, baffled, and just, all-around, fucking befuddled.  
What the hell just happened?

* * *

It is Sunday.  
The day of worship and fasting and prayer to God  
I worship my toilet.

I lie, prostrate across the cold floor, spewing things of untold foulness.

I swear I will never drink again.

I _swear_ to fucking God

The pain swells and pushes against my abdomen.  
Like the tide I can feel the bile roll and my mouth fills with saliva and stomach acid and I'm throwing my head into the basin, heaving out my organs in a rush of water and blood. Disgusting

I despise vomiting. I once knew this girl, back in my previous life of caged erotica and white lace garters. She was bulimic- I watched her inhale endless quantities of crap-  
cookies, brownies, hamburger helper, pasta, and just about anything anybody could give her. Things filled with grease and sweat-the kind of things that you sin for-French fries and the like-promising yourself that this is the _very_ last one (I _swear_) before you go on that diet.

Anyway, she was the Blob

(Yes like from fucking X-men.)

Except that what she inhaled she immediately released.

It was like a sacred ritual. Eat yourself into Hell, go to the bathroom, remove the shiny purple instrument of God, or perhaps of supermodels;  
(your own personal vomit stick, and aren't you so proud that you invented such an ingenious device. Now you can worship anywhere without even getting your fingers dirty-psh…..toothbrushes are _so _80's)

Spend fifteen minutes with your face in the toilet and _voila_- you have reached divinity.

Finish up in record time with your carry on toothbrush and no one will even know,  
I'm sure they'll just assume that your hoarse voice stems not from a mutilated esophagus,  
but merely from a quick blow for that ever elusive boytoy of the week.  
Lunch as usual eh?

I spit and chunks fly. And I can't breathe. Perhaps this is projectile vomiting….how the hell do you get vomit out of your nose anyway?

A question for the Lord if you please.

The door creaks open and I feel myself being lifted from the floor. I attempt to protest-thinking that such a swaying movement will have me regurgitating once more-but all I manage is a feeble croak. I close my eyes.

I wake in bed. My stomach still rolling, but there's nothing left to gag up so I suppose I'm safe.

Though I'm a bit disappointed now…

Now that I am not in the grasp of death my mind begins to wander and I see flashes of last night.

Colours so bold, and voices so loud.

Please Re let it have been a dream a nightmare

Anything but reality

Please.

But my self-delusion is unsuccessful.

I've lost everything.

I can never have him now

(_do you even still want him? Sure weren't acting like it last night. Acting like such a little bitch. He'll never want you now. Trash.)_

And what have I done?

And Bakura-

Oh God Bakura. What can I even say? How can I explain? I don't want them to know, my surrogate family. Will they despise me too?  
Emotional (mental) baggage that I am. And last night-

(snarling and spitting beasts)

My hands begin to shake.

All I can seem to do is cry these days…  
I'm sure the outsider would find it quite monotonous-like a clichéd soap opera-fucking _Novella._

The door opens and Ryou enters carrying a silver tray.  
I smell minestrone and my eyes glaze again, small drops leaking from between my eyes lids and leaving glistening tracks down my face.

_Angel_

"R- ," I stop and clear my throat and I'm in agony-  
Jesus H. Christ did I swallow acid?

Well…

I suppose spitting it up would have the same effect, now wouldn't it?

Ryou is at my side, tilting a little glass cup and filling my parched mouth with cold water.  
He sits on the edge of the bed and I avoid his gaze, shame wrapping me in a shroud, and awkward silence fills the air.

"Bakura's worried about you…you've been out of it for days….we almost had to take you to the hospital."

_What?_

"We didn't know what to do…you where so sick..."

"Ryou, I-I'm so sorry…is Bakura okay? I-I can't remember what happened very clearly…that night…was he hurt?"

And Ryou smiles softly.

"No Yuugi. He's fine….but Yuugi…that man…who was he?"

And Ryou gives me an earnest look filled with softness and care and how can he be so kind to me?

I lick my chapped, split lips (and I abhor the taste of sweet copper) and let out a sigh, "He…He's no one Ryou…Just…"

And fuck. I'm leaking again.  
I turn my head and bring my hands up to my face.

"Oh Yuugi…"

And time passes. The sun moves across the room and I cling to his soft cashmere sweater.

"I loved him Ryou. I gave him everything. Fucking everything. I left my family for him and he- he just doesn't fucking _care_. He fucking left me;  
Left me in that hovel with nothing but overdue debts and a mattress crawling with maggots. Why did he leave? Why Ryou?"

And Ryou rocks me. Like my mother used to. Back when she was still alive. Still sane.  
I bury my face into the crevice where his neck meets his shoulder.  
He begins to speak in a hushed tone

"Don't cry Yuugi, it's over. We'll take care of you now. Don't cry. You'll never have to see him again-"

And a sob is wrenched from my throat-

"But I _want_to see him Ryou. I need him. I still fucking need him. He's my soul. How can I live without my soul"

Split. How can I exist? Doomed for eternity to wander the planes, stuck in an endless cycle of reincarnation.

Vibrations lull me into the approaching darkness.  
And my eyes begin to flutter.  
Streaking tracks of blue and black and things begin to blur.  
Losing focus.  
I think I sleep.

* * *

The room is cloaked in red hues when next I wake.  
It must be sunset.  
I lie staring into the canopy, watching the shadows crawl down and across the thick fabric.

I dreamt.

So vivid.  
I usually don't remember my dreams…but this…this was different.  
As though it is a memory instead of a mere neurological fabrication-

I awoke covered in white sand.  
The moon was massive, so close. I reached out my hand  
(an elegant gesture, surprisingly. Like a practiced dancer with inborn grace. I've never moved so perfectly)  
And attempted to touch the stars. I have never seen such exquisiteness-such magnificence.

Though this revelation was abruptly cut short. I wore nothing but a gauze kilt and the chill of the night swept over me. I began to shake.

And I stumbled into the abyss. I remember thinking that I had to watch my feet, to avoid death by snakes and scorpions or perhaps even a pocket of air, quicksand….  
not that I know how to identify such in reality of course, but I knew then.

I walked for hours, the moon traveled. But everything looked the same. The wind continued to shift the sand and in every direction my eyes could reach were dunes upon dunes upon dunes-

One could grow mad here

If left long enough alone

My pace quickens. It is too quiet. I will not grow mad, listening to the whispers of the sand.  
This great BeachWorld. I will not succumb.

With these words I push myself further and night bleeds into day and the heat beats down upon me and I can hardly recall my name.

_Just a little further…Just a little further_

Hours pass

I am lying face down in the sand.  
Inhaling it. Eating it.

It slides down my throat and it is heavy in my stomach. A disturbing weight and I can still feel it shift. Will it form dunes there too?

I hear sounds. Heavy and earsplitting. The sounds of a million men. The earth trembles and I burrow into the sand. They begin to pass. Hundreds upon hundreds carrying curved swords and long shields.  
An army. Blood stained and with the face of death. They are returning from battle. Faces grave, men that are still only boys a thousand years too old. They've seen horrors, they will never be innocent.  
They are the royal guard.

I know this instantly.

But what use is the royal guard without the guarded royalty?  
I crane my head slightly and attempt to catch a glimpse of Pharaoh.  
An odd feeling of unease creeps over me and I tremble in anticipation…  
Why do I feel such excitement? Such an overbearing impression of dread?  
What is this omen?

My breath catches as I see a tint of red. There are soldiers holding up an ornate carriage  
Shear fabric catching the sun's rays and (craning my head at an impossible angle)  
I am just able to glimpse within. There is a boy, wrapped in silk and gold.  
Hands folded neatly on his chest, grasping a golden inverted pyramid.  
(_puzzle_)

At first I think him slumbering-  
But he is too still-  
Far too still.

His eyelids do not flicker

And my sense of dread rises from my gut.  
The soldiers begin to pass  
And I'm shrieking.

And then I am caught. Between the worlds. Rising into the blackness I see a man with blue eyes sitting upon a throne. Head bent, hands gripped into trembling fists.

My mind shatters. He (the godling, little prince, king of shadows) is dead or worse and the years will pass and the curse will grow and the darkness will consume us all. How can something created from despair grant peace? Their Kingdom will not last, a forgotten city beneath the sands. I pity the blue-eyed Set sitting upon that accursed throne. Such can only bring misfortune.

And I wake. Fighting the undertow and opening my eyes to the fire of a setting star.

* * *

Ryou gives me a glass of tea.  
To soothe my throat.

I have been restrained to this bed for days. I've lost count. Days spent sleeping and thinking and working puzzles.

I have not seen my fiend.

Not once.

Ryou says not to fret. Not to worry. Bakura is not angry-  
Or at least, not angry with me.

But we have another performance tonight.

And I am dreading it.

How can I possibly look forward to an event that brought such…calamity  
For the lack of a better word.

Mariku was in here earlier, bringing me my new "outfit"  
Heh-if you can call it that anyway

He begged me to sing,  
And I, in debt, could not refuse….

Mariku attempted to cheer me up, so he told me fantastic tales of how he is the savior of the world  
And that we must watch out for the pigeons and squirrels for they will bring the apocalypse…  
One does not question Mariku

Just nod and smile.

If only everyone was so easily pleased  
Placated  
Or something of such-

The door creaks slightly and I pretend not to hear it. This is the second day he's done this. Push the door ajar and stand there peeking through the gap.  
I am beginning to feel like this is an Edgar Allen Poe tale and that soon my heart will be beating beneath the floorboards….

I watch my fiend through my peripheral vision sending mental urges to just throw open the door and-

Do what?

Run to my bedside with words of passion?

Pff…hardly

I sense that would not be quite within character…

But that does present a dodgy question

What do I feel for Bakura exactly?

I admire him of course.

His arrogant swagger  
and his harsh gravel voice  
like shattering opaque glass  
and broken marble elephants  
that voice  
like sin  
a caress  
a defilement

Sending pleasant shocks of electricity down my spine

His touch  
Firm and rough  
but with a certain cautious air  
As though what he held were fragile  
(like china, carnival glass, and Ming vases)  
Too precious to destroy

And his scent of desert winds.

I wish he'd talk to me.  
Hold me.

Anything but this standstill.

This almost nothing.

I stand-frustrated and annoyed

I fling open the door and watch as his eyes bulge spectacularly

I grasp him by his collar and yank him in the room-

"Would you just come in and _sit_ please. Jesus."

He is frozen for a brief moment-

Long enough for me to retreat to my cocoon of silk blankets and feather comforter  
(yes I know. Extravagant. One word. Ryou…..that's all that needs to be said really)

Finally, he regains control of his motor functions and rises to his feet.

"Alrighty then," he smirks and sits on the bed, "let's talk about tonight. I think we should open with-"

And everything is back to normal.

Or almost anyway-

There is a bruise ghosting across his left cheekbone  
Slowly fading-it is a pale yellow now

And I know that the incident is not really forgotten  
Just pushed aside, swept under the rug.

I wonder what new developments tonight will bring-

More brawls and questions that I can't answer-  
Won't answer….

This interlude of false peace will not last. I can feel the tension swirling-building.  
I have yet to face the godling and his right hand.  
I suppose I should feel anxious, it's odd this sense of tranquility.  
The rest before the fall, before the shit hits the proverbial fan.

I smile and giggle as Bakura makes some inane allusion to some witty joke or another-

Waving his hands about

Giving me live demonstration

Yes

Fuck me while running darling  
The shit will certainly hit the fucking fan.

And I can't tell if I'm dreading it or not…  
Fucking masochist that I am-

Well fuck a duck and rip a shit and screw your brother's mother….

...................

I must stop speaking with Mariku…

Who the hell says fuck a duck anyway?

* * *

_And thus I present the latest installment to this spiel of not so fake fiction. I suppose I owe an apology to whomever I kept waiting (and I must say that I abhor owing anything of any nature truly), but I'm afraid that even in this day and era of "modern" technology, locating a stable connection to the Internet on this antique laptop is an act of God.....I miracle really...._

_Heh_

_I wonder _

_Does this make me Jesus?_


	3. LookingGlass Insects

_I would like to remind readers that this story is indeed rated mature.  
There is questionable content that may or may not be offensive.  
Please keep this in mind.  
_

_Quatre_

It is amazing really, how much our influence has spanned; A cultivated growth, a plague. Playing four nights out of the week, hopping from club to underground raves.  
Giving to those willing enough to snatch our souls.

I went to the grocery store with Ryou the other night, (we were in desperate need of something edible. Our punishment for foolishly allowing Mariku full reign in the kitchen…)  
humming softly browsing the fruit aisle contemplating the decision between white and yellow when I glance up from the peaches in my hand and see my face on the back of the man in front of me.

I think that was when it first struck me-  
this wasn't some hobby, some swing job-  
something to put bread on the table and possibly make it through the night with relative mobility in a frigid apartment.

No

This was going somewhere, churning and exploding in the sewers of the city.  
It struck me that this was my life now-rehearsals and shows and taking Mariku to parks and combing Bakura's snarled hair.

Yami had no place here. I had erased him completely. I had wiped my mind clean of anything that had occurred prior to my acceptance in the ice castle.  
This revelation left a hollowed feeling-a burning ache…  
I dropped the peaches and one burst at my feet. Sticky sweet coating my boots and I leave orange footprints as I scramble out of the food's store and into the deserted parking lot.  
I begin to heave-Large dry shallow swallows of burnt air. My throat bleeds and my chest quakes.

I begin to count.

Red cars and blue cars and the white lines on the street. One and two and three-  
Inhale  
Exhale  
Count

And slowly my throat expands and I feel the panic retreat ever so slightly.  
And Repeat-  
Inhale  
Exhale  
Count

As I sit on the curb indulging my OCD to impede hysteria-  
I feel worry build in my gut.  
I truly am, without the slightest doubt, a real fucking head-case.  
I had thought that my panic attacks had died out-had become extinct years ago. Perished beneath the years of meds and constant routines…I had thought….  
I had thought that I was over the mindless weeping and hyperventilating in the school's bathrooms-  
That's why I went to see a shrink-the reason I spent hours upon hours talking about mundane trivialities and drinking endless cups of green tea.  
If I was still talking to my parents I would advise them to get their money back.

Nevertheless, I must blanket this recent development.  
No need to bring even more attention to myself-not when Ryou looks at me like I might break if he speaks too loudly.  
I need no one's pity…I won't be able to stand it.

* * *

We are in a rundown coffee shop and Mariku is bugging the workers.  
Sitting at the old cherry-stained wood bar and twirling on the creaking stools in his flamboyantly colored boa and feathered fedora….  
Only Mariku.

I giggle and turn my attention to an annoyed Bakura and a mortified Ryou.  
"Bakura can you _please_ do something" Ryou mutters his hand covering his sheepish blushed red face.

I giggle again  
And Bakura rolls his eyes and pushes up from our little table.  
Ryou sighs and sips his warm vanilla cream coffee.

I'm drinking hot chocolate.

"So Yuugi, we seem to be booked for the next couple of months, and 'Kura thinks we might even be in line for a record deal! Can you believe it?  
After years of moving around and rehearsing in dirty bars and working bad jobs, we're finally going to live our dream-"

And I smile and nod and start to tune out Ryou's rambling  
I feel a little bad-I mean it's not as if I'm not happy-  
But I think Ryou forgets that I haven't been with them since the beginning  
That I wasn't with them when they were thrown out with nothing but their instruments and a bag of crackers.  
And I wasn't there when they were caught squatting in an old apartment filled with the dregs of humanity.  
This, all this, the shows and the deals and the fans,  
This wasn't my dream.  
This wasn't what I had planned on doing three years ago when I left my home with nothing but a bag of clothes and Yami's warmth.  
This wasn't what I had wanted.

I play with the tower of whipped cream in my mug and shift my shoulders. I've been cold constantly,  
since Bakura decided he liked seeing me in leather and choked with black buckled collars…I think he's a bit of a sadist honestly…

I glance up and yes, Ryou's still going and I take the moment to look at him. His eyes lit with passion and sparkling with glee,  
hands moving in sweeping gestures as he animates mundane words with fantastic movements.  
Seeing this, seeing his happiness makes me glad. He is so sweet and kind and truly my first real friend.  
I would play a thousand shows just to see him smile so.

The bell to the little shop jingles and I am slightly surprised. This place is so out of the way and tiny it rarely has any business other than what our little group provides.  
I glance towards the door  
And I stop thinking.

You have got to be _fucking_ kidding me.  
When did the world turn so fucking small?  
I think it's true, it must be  
that saying,  
The concept that we all live in these little circles, and no matter where we travel to, no matter how far we run, the group of people we encounter never truly leave us.  
Popping up in obscure places, we all live in these little isolated bubbles interacting with the same people day after day after day until we die.

How sad.

Ryou looks at me with a curios gaze and I watch him shift to see the new customer and understanding flickers across his visage.  
His eyes widen and there is the classic "Oh, no" expression…  
Ryou has the knack for always looking very classic.

I stand.  
I walk towards the brunette.

He is seated at the table in the corner by the frost glazed window. He has pulled out a little black laptop and he is typing furiously…  
all this does not distract me from the way his shoulders are tense and how his eyes keep jerking in my direction in subtle glances.

I'm not sure I'm quite prepared for this, but I strengthen my resolve and pull out the chair across from him.  
It makes a terrible creaking sound as I sit and draw myself closer to the table.

He is still typing.

I sigh and realize that we will go nowhere unless I begin the dance.

I sigh again. I really don't feel like doing this…I really don't.

I swallow, "um hello" my voice low and wispy and nothing like the strong sound I had been hoping for.  
Damn

He stops typing and slowly brings his gaze to mine.

I am struck at how blue they are-his eyes-so intense-I feel a sense of Deja vu  
(the feeling that can only be explained in French) and then it's gone and I am fidgeting under his glare.

"What?"

Ugh….his voice is harsh and cold and this is going to be harder than I realized.

"Stop it. Please. I'm not stupid. I've been coming here for weeks and I've never seen you before. You should just tell me what you want to tell me and leave me alone…  
and stop following me please…or whatever it was that you were doing to discover the places I visit."

And my words are out there, floating on air  
and I'm holding my breath and gripping the edge of the table.  
I must be in control, I must not tremble. I am not a baby and I can't always let people take care of me…  
and I'm saying these words like a mantra in my head and I still want to runaway and bury my head into 'Kura's shoulder and make all the bad things go away.

The Blue-eyed man chuckles and closes the laptop.

"You're a lot more straight forward than he said you'd be."

And my grip is suddenly limp and I feel like I'm going to slip out of my chair-

"W-what?" I sputter

He chuckles again and begins to speak flippantly.

"Yami said you were so quiet you were nearly mute. He said getting you to talk to me would be like getting the earth to tilt out of its rotation.  
I'm sure the fact that _you_ approached _me_ will leave him sufficiently shocked….in the same state you left him in twice actually. First when you were performing  
and second when you left with that white-haired thug. It seems as though you're constantly surprising him doesn't it? He must not know you very well at all, hmm?"

And he smirks and takes a swig from his coffee and I can tell it is _black_ black.  
Dark as night and strong as liqueur.

And I'm trembling and I can't tell if it's from my intense fear, or my intense anger-

"Don't talk about him like that!" and my voice is tight with fury and then I see he is smirking and I know I let him bait me.  
The anger drains out of me like oil and I am left empty and used.

"What? What do you fucking want from me? Why can't he just leave me alone? He was so good at it the past few years,why the sudden change of heart?" my voice is broken  
and my eyes begin to swell and _I WILL NOT CRY_.

I will not.

The blue-eyed man sighs, closes his laptop and I know that he is serious now and he will speak frankly…  
I'm not really sure that I am ready for his bluntness now that I have obtained it…

"He wants to see you."

I gape at him. Fish out of water.

"what?" this being the only word in my vocabulary at the moment but I can hardly bring myself to care that I sound like a bloody idiot.

"I said he wants to see you. He wants to talk to you without your freak friends hovering around you."

"They aren't freaks" I bite back quickly before the weight of his words begin to sink in…

He wants to see me, _he_ wants to see _me_. And my mind is stuck on repeat. Vaguely I notice that the brunette has sat back  
and seems to be giving me the much needed time to swallow his words. I am vaguely grateful.

"W-why does he want to see me?" and my voice is a whisper once again.

The brunette sighs and shrugs his shoulders, "how should I fucking know? I'm just delivering the message because he doesn't have the courage to face you himself."  
And then he looks at me and I feel as though I am being evaluated, "Don't misunderstand me, I care for my cousin, I do, but if you go to see him  
then you really are as naïve and innocent and forgiving as he says you to be. He doesn't deserve your forgiveness."

And I shake my head, mind a bit foggy…

"Then why are you here?"

The brunette shrugs his shoulders again and begins to rise.

"Because I love that insufferable idiot and because he begged. And my cousin never begs."

The brunette begins to gather his stuff and I am still shocked limp in my chair.  
I know that he is leaving but it doesn't really seem to register.

He grabs his briefcase and reaches for my hand. I watch as he drops a slip of white paper onto my palm and then he straightens.

"Be there tomorrow at noon if you accept his invitation," he begins to turn and then stops abruptly, "Oh, and one more thing, this coffee is terrible.  
Why on earth do you haunt this establishment?" and his eyebrow is raised and his lips are curled slightly…..

I let out a whisper of a giggle,

"Cause it's small and quiet and tradition. And it's just like us, a little forgotten….that's why it's the best."

He scoffs and glides towards the door, "whatever you say midget, whatever you say."

And then he is gone and I can feel my feet and hands again-the feeling coming back in a rush of sand and spikes.

I glance down at my palm and curl my fingers around the paper. I don't have the courage to open it yet so I place it carefully into my pocket and I stand on shaking legs.  
I nearly fall.

Bakura is at my side instantly and I begin to wonder where he's been this whole time.

"What the fuck did that asshole say to you ma petite?" and he's gripping me tightly and I just shake my head and bury my face into his chest.  
I just want to sleep. No thinking, no feeling, no explaining. And I hear Bakura sigh and I know that I'm getting away with it again.  
Getting away with this silent treatment that I've been spoon feeding them.

We leave the shop, our mood of frivolous glee gone and drained and I feel like shit.

Even Mariku is silent and still and his boa hangs from his lax grip and his fedora is nowhere to be seen.

My heart clenches and I draw back slightly from my fiend's arms and reach my hand out.

I grasp onto Mariku's huge rough hand, my own pale one nearly engulfed entirely within, and I pull him towards me. And we walk, a link of conjoined humans.  
Bakura with his arms wrapped around me and Ryou, and Mariku trailing along at my side. I squeeze Mariku's hand briefly, then turn my face into Bakura's warmth.  
I will not dwell on this new development.

We will go home and then I will make Mariku laugh and I will sing for Bakura and I will bake angel cake and cream puffs for Ryou.  
They are my family and they will come first.

And Yami-

Yami will just have to wait.

* * *

It is midnight and I am sneaking out of the bed. I crawl over bodies and Bakura shifts and grumbles into the pillow and I freeze,  
half my body extended between Ryou's leg and Bakura's chest. I can't risk breathing, my fiend, such a light sleeper, the cool air escaping lips could have him up and alert within seconds.

I quickly untangle myself from the cocoon and tip-toe my way out of the bedroom and into the hallway shutting the door behind me quietly.  
Now I can breathe, and I suck in deep, needy mouthfuls and hurry to the decayed drawing room.

The house is silent and still and nothing but myself exists.

I meander to the love seat and peer out of the stained-glass window. Everything is dyed a pale green, and when I shift to the left the pastel green bleeds into harsh red…  
this usually amuses me for hours…  
But it fails to detract me from my pondering and my fingers fiddle with the scrap of paper.

I open it. I close it. I open it. I close it. And I can't decide if I should just lift the tiny slip to my face, or toss it into the waste basket by my feet.  
So many choices…I always did abhor making decisions.

I contemplate the idea of tossing it and ignoring him all together-  
I have the feeling (this innate knowledge) that if I did toss it, this would be the last I'd hear from him-there would be no second chances, no changing minds.  
He'd be gone. For good…

And I'm trying to figure out if I could accept that. If that is indeed what I want.  
But I know immediately that thought is false. Of course I want Yami. I've always wanted him…

But now I want someone else too. I want to be able to sit in my fiends lap and play Senet.  
I want to lie down in bed and know that he is right there, breathing and dreaming beside me.

I cannot have them both-  
But that does not stop me from wanting.

I laugh and it is bitter and harsh.

What a web I have managed to weave.  
What a fucking web.

Well,  
I _am_ a masochist

So I open the scrap of paper and raise it into the light-

And loud laughter erupts from my throat and I can hardly bring myself to quench it-even though I know it may wake my friends from slumber-I laugh anyway.  
I'm not sure how long my hysterical laughing lasted, nor can I determine the moment the laughter turned to weeping.  
It may have been a few hours-it may have been but a few moments-time hardly matters here.

I wipe at my eyes and read the words scrawled in tight elegant script.  
(He always did have a royal hand-I used to compare his writing to calligraphy).

A few more chuckles escape my parted lips as my eyes read the words once more-  
Noon  
Echo Park  
In front of the statue of Cupid and Psyche.

Of fucking course. Of course he'd choose to meet in the place burdened with memories.  
The place where the earth stood still and I saw paradise.  
Of course.

I stare at the paper, twisting it between my fingers and I am at a loss.

And I am trying to keep my thoughts at bay.  
Trying to keep the steel cage closed.  
Trying to out run the Minotaur.

And I am failing and my hand grows lax and my vision blurs. And I can see two of everything before it shifts into black.

* * *

_Several years ago, in a time when the earth stood still and the monsters were nowhere to be seen and everything was Light._

I am running.

Again.

My hands are bleeding and I seem to have lost my school bag at the last fence I jumped…

Jii-san will not be pleased.

I heave as my shoes skid along the gravel and I nearly fall and eat the asphalt as I lunge around another corner.  
I have stopped trying to navigate through the alleys, only trying to lose my pursuers in this labyrinth of city brick…

I don't seem to be doing a very good job.

I can hear their footsteps…  
A rush of sound  
Closer  
And closer  
It's coming ever so close

And I bite my lip to keep from wailing  
My very own Death March  
The Devil on my heels.

I can feel my body start to give. Shuddering and shaking and I beg it to hold on_  
(just a little longer please just a little_ _longer)_

I am losing hope and the darkness begins to consume me.  
Rushing across the walls, tracking me, like wolves they corner me and I can see them snarling, blood lust in their eyes.  
The alpha male grins, face splitting, distorting and his mouth is so wide so fucking wide and it's red, crimson stained and oh god….

My mind is cracking and I am huddled against the wall.

(_please no, god please don't let them hurt me please)_

Tears streak down my face and I can't bring myself to lift my hands to wipe them away.

Ushio laughs and my heart fills with terror.  
His laugh could bring insanity,  
I beg for the silence of the deaf.

"Well, Yuugi-kun, it seems we've finally found you. Did you think we would let you go so easily? Silly little boy."

Ushio's face splits and he's pulling out a dagger; he begins to play.  
Flicking the shimmering tool into the air, once twice it sails over his head and flips once and twice again and the hilt is in his palm once more.  
He is smirking.

"Well boys, what do you think we should do with Yuugi-kun? After all, Heh, all naughty boys need to be put in their place," his smirk widens and he brings the dagger to his mouth,  
"isn't that right Yuugi-kun, you want to be punished don't you?"

And he's licking the dagger, running his impossibly elongated tongue across its surface.  
Distantly a part of me wonders how he manages to do that without cutting his tongue off.  
That same silent seething part of me hopes he slips.

His gaggle of moronic demons cackle and I know that this will not end well.  
It may never end at all…  
There will only be pain.

Ushio advances and I am watching

Frozen against the shit covered wall and hardly breathing.  
He is five feet away  
and my legs shake and give out and I fall to the cold floor.  
Three feet.  
His gang follows, a cloud of wickedness hovering over his shoulders.  
Two feet.  
And I can't see the light. There is no light.  
One.  
My breathing stops.

And I am being lifted and slammed into the wall. My feet kicking effortlessly, my toes do not even swipe the floor.  
Ushio's hand is gripped around my throat and for some odd reason I think of an English literature novel.  
And I can relate to that little hand maiden who quivers in fright and wails against the thought of being a dancer feet kicking in the air,  
faces covered shrouded in white

Dear god I don't want to be a faceless dancer.

_**I don't want to die.**_

Ushio leans in and I can smell the whisky on his breath and I gag.  
So close, his nose grazes mine and I can fill his lips twist into that horrid grin.  
I shut my eyes as he brings his face against my cheek and I can feel his rank breath fluttering around my ear.

"No no little Yuugi-kun, you will see everything. I want to see those pretty little eyes of yours widen in fear. I want and you will give."

And his hand leaves my throat and I am confused until I hear cloth ripping and he is tugging at my jeans and I start to scream.

He slams his palm into my face and I taste copper.

"Shut up you little fuck. You'll scream when I'm good and ready for you to scream."

And I can feel his hands on me, big and harsh and rough and I hate it stop please stop.

I am thrown to the floor and I lift my eyes and I immediately want to hold them shut. Staple them shut.

But I don't dare. I'm not allowed to shut my eyes, not allowed to scream. I tremble instead.

Ushio is tugging off his belt and the button to his pants is yanked off with hurried hands.  
And then he is on top of me.  
Crushing me into the cool wet ground.  
Crushing my lungs with his weight.

He yanks my arms above my head and foreign hands grasp them and tie them down.  
I jerk but the rope is strong and taut and I am stuck.

Ushio's hands are in my hair pulling and stroking and I am disgusted. I turn my head.

He does not like this.

Not at all.

Then his coarse lips are on mine  
Ripping my mouth open with his teeth and plunging his tongue down my throat.  
It tastes of blood and liquor

And I begin to float.

This was not how I imagined my fist kiss to feel like.  
Nothing like I had dreamt about. Sitting on my window ledge daydreaming about forbidden lovers.

I deserve this.  
I brought this on myself.

Distantly I can feel cold hands prying my legs open.  
I am to blame for pinning for sinful things.

Something hard is shoved into my mouth and I choke.

This is enough to snap me back into Hell-  
Bring me back to reality.

The thing pushes into my throat and I open my mouth as wide as I can manage and I can feel my lips split.  
I gurgle as the object retreats  
Only to return with a harsh snap and a rhythm begins  
In  
Out  
Breath  
In

I am crying but the tears are empty and I can only pray for my former apathy.

Cold fingers brush against me and I jerk, inadvertently shoving the object deeper and I swallow and there is a loud moan and I open my eyes.  
I see shapes, dark and obscure, and hardly there. I focus.

There is a man above me. He has shaggy blond hair and is face is cut from stone. He has cruel eyes.

He is panting and my eyes wander down and I notice that his thighs are braced against the ground around my head….  
He is straddling me.

He groans again, brown eyes closing in what looks like pain.  
And the object moves faster and harder.  
And it is slick with my saliva and the blond boy's hands wrap into my hair, twirling his fingers and tugging with the rhythm of the object.  
He pants  
I whimper  
A small sound, and my throat vibrates.  
He freezes.  
Eyes open in shock.  
"Do that again."

My face draws into a frown, my mouth tightening around the object and the boy tosses his head.  
"Do it make that fucking noise again. Now. Fuck now."  
And the object begins to move  
Slamming into me  
And my jaw is aching and I whimper in pain  
It moves faster and the boy is gasping and I am swallowing and crying and I just want it all to stop  
Saliva is leaking from my mouth, dripping down my chin and across my face.  
I make a sucking motion and my lips close around the object and my tongue drags along it.  
The boy screams and the object is spurting and I am choking on salt and god _what is this?_

And suddenly it is gone and I am spitting up fluid. I open my eyes and I see the boy sitting by my head.  
He is watching me and I can't read his face. My eyes travel lower and I am so confused,  
what was he doing on top of me and what was that horrid thing and why was it in my mouth?

I stare at him, and I watch his eyes darken and shift away. He stands abruptly. And it is only then that I notice that he is half naked.  
He has no trousers and his skin is tanned a soft light brown. My eyes stop at his groin and distantly I feel embarrassed to be looking at such a thing.  
But my detached curiosity halts all thought.  
He is glistening and dripping and my brow crinkles as I begin to think.  
He sees me staring and quickly covers himself. And I finally understand. And I make a choked gasp.

_(No he didn't. he couldn't have. Please. Was he the thing in my mouth? No no no NO)_

My mind is shattering and I can hardly feel my head being slammed into the ground.

"I'm not done with you yet little Yuugi-kun." And Ushio laughs as he runs his palms along my thighs.

I am hyperventilating.

"So, did you enjoy having Jonouchi's cock down your throat you little slut? You moaned like a whore"

And I am shaking my head

(_no please no)_

Ushio is laughing and he turns his gaze to the blonde boy.

"Good work Jou-you seem to have struck him speechless."

And Ushio is cackling and spit flies from his mouth.

Jonouchi's face turns pale and his lips pull down in disgust. His lips are pursed and his fists are shaking.  
And I stare into his darkening eyes.  
And Jonouchi snaps face clouding over, shoulder's hunching.

"Stop, Ushio. We've done enough. This is going too far."

And Ushio stands.

"What? What did you say? You shoved your cock down his throat and now you have a conscience. You're fucking pathetic.  
You'll end up just like your deadbeat dad. A simpering lush who wakes up in his own vomit and shit."  
Ushio smirks.

And Jonouchi lifts his fist and slams it into Ushio's face.

Ushio hardly blinks.

"Heh, I see how it is. You'll regret this." And he turns away, dismissing the raging boy and starts back towards me.  
He stops and speaks.

"Take care of him."

And his cronies are circling their new prey and I am watching as Jonouchi is surrounded  
and then he is gone and all I can hear are screams.

Ushio is kneeling over me. Lifting my hips with his hands and I feel the bruises begin to form.

"You should worry about yourself slut. I'm going to fuck that tight little ass of yours into the ground, and then I'm going to fuck you some more."

And I am frozen in apathy as I feel something long and warm push against that spot and Ushio is smirking and his grip tightens-

And my face is coated in blood.

I blink-confused.

Ushio's grip goes slack and his face contorts and my gaze wanders to his weeping throat.  
He is pushed off me. Dead weight and he lands in a puddle of sewage.

And my arms are being untied.  
And my body is being lifted  
Cradled against a warm chest.  
Held so gently.

I strain to focus my gaze.  
And they settle on crimson eyes.  
So dark and so deep and I lift my hand  
And reach for those glowing orbs.  
And then there is nothing.

* * *

I wake wrapped in warmth. I struggle to pry my swollen eyelids apart and I cringe as my vision is consumed with bright harsh light.

I shift. Blinking as my eyes begin to adjust. I take in my surroundings.

I am in a park and there is a fountain in front of me and it is beautiful.

It glimmers, the water reflecting the shining sun. Droplets rolling off smooth cut ivory. So wondrous.  
As I take in the form of the curling bodies, my mind begins to place the familiar piece of art.  
My eyes travel from the wings of the soft eyed man who kneels to embrace the woman at his feet  
and I am struck by the tenderness of their faces. How can stone look so soft? So loving?

I hear a chuckling and something warm and solid moves around my waist.

"That is Cupid and Psyche…do you know the myth little one?"

My body shivers as the baritone voice sweeps over me and lingers in my ears.  
I turn, head shifting and my eyes fall on glowing embers.

"N-no…I can't remember…"

The crimson eyed godling chuckles again and shifts, shoulders moving to lean against a tree  
and I can feel him pull be back with him and settle my body in his lap.  
He pushes my head against his chest and begins to stroke my hair.

"Well, you see little one," and his voice takes a soft drawl,  
"Psyche was the youngest maiden of three sisters. She was very beautiful, so beautiful that the villagers began to compare her to Aphrodite,  
the goddess of love and lust and beauty. Aphrodite grew furious with jealousy. How dare the mortals snub her for some mortal twit…  
so the angry goddess sent for her son, Cupid- the breathtaking demi-god who spent his days creating problems for married men with his poison laced arrows  
and shattering the hearts of both women and men alike ….."

I am not sure how long my god spoke, but the sun was setting, bleeding violet across the low clouds and the evening wind began to blow.  
I could care less. Sitting in his lap basking in his warmth.  
My thoughts consumed with a young girl completing impossible tasks for that one chance,  
that one fleeting moment,  
to fix her awful mistake and find her lost love.

I huddled closer and smiled in satisfied bliss when my godling finished.  
I always did love happy endings. The world never seemed to have enough of them.

He chuckled as I nuzzled into his neck.

"It's beginning to grow late little one. Re has made his descent and the night is beginning to unfold. Shouldn't I take you home?"

And it all begins to rush back.  
My brief moment of ignorant bliss evaporating and leaving me chilled.  
Snapshots sweep along my eyes. I remember running and Ushio oh god Ushio I remember I-

And the darkling is covering me and shushing me rocking me slowly.

"Hush little one, hush. There is nothing to fear and you are out of harm's way. Nothing's going to harm you darling, not while I'm around. Never when I'm around."

And gazing into his blood red eyes Ushio and his thugs vanish from my thoughts, burrowing into the crevices of my mind and I begin to smile.  
I'll always be safe. Always. Because I am loved.

"I-I'm Yuugi…" I stutter biting my bottom lip and I can feel blood pull into my face and I know that it must be blush rose red.

The godling smiles and caresses my cheek.

"Hello Yuugi. You may call me Yami." And then his lips are on mine and I am melting in the taste of desert spices  
and my heart grows wings and I wrap my arms around my god.

I have gone through trials. Like Psyche I have conquered the impossible and now I am granted a little bit of paradise.  
I am given my missing half. My lost soul and kindred spirit. Our hearts beat as one as I lean into him and he swings me into his arms.  
Always and forever, his voice whispers-

Always and forever.

_I am loved_

* * *

I fight the undertow. Unwilling to become sentient. I do not want to remember. I can't I can't.  
The current rushes through me, forcing me to the surface and my mind begins to weep.  
_Let_ _me stay asleep_ I beg, _let me stay unaware_.

My prayers are not answered.  
Though I am bitter I am not surprised.  
I am used to being ignored by God,  
Why should now be any different.

I slowly open my eyes and they make out the shape of Bakura leaning over me.  
The ground is cold and my hands are numb.  
I must have fallen from the love seat-  
Who knows how long I was passed out on the floor.

" Yuugi! Yuugi, can you hear me? Wake up you little brat! This isn't fucking funny."

And my lips twitch and I strain to assure my panicking fiend that I am alright. But my face remains expressionless.  
It takes too much effort to move; Even blinking tires me so.

Bakura is slapping my face lightly and his hands are trembling.  
My mind slowly constructs the scene Bakura must have stumbled upon.  
It is not a pretty sight and my heart aches with guilt.  
I bring more trouble than I am worth.

" Kura, it's okay. I'm fine." I manage to mumble into his chest.

His grip on me tightens and he is breathing harshly.

"Do you know how much you fucking scared me you little shit? I wake to you screaming and then I find you fucking passed out on the floor fucking convulsing."

His eyes narrow and his hands clench hard around my shoulders.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you fucking on something? Are you a fucking junkie- because I don't put up with that type of shit."

My chest constricts and I'm shaking my head. _No_ I want to say, _no I'm not on drugs. You don't understand_

And he is glaring at me, disgust and fear in his eyes. I know he resentments me for this display of fleeting vulnerability.  
His loss of stoic coldness.

I shake my head again and bring my trembling hands to cup his face.

"No, no 'Kura. I-I'm not on drugs," I snicker softly and bury my face into his pale toned chest, " Though sometimes I honestly wish I was."

He yanks me back and my heart stings briefly. Rejection seeping into my soul.  
He tilts my chin and grasps my face with his angular pianist fingers.

"Then what the fuck is it? Why won't you fucking tell me?"

His eyes search mine and I feel like he's scouring my soul. His gaze so intense,  
I have the desperate urge to turn away,  
to shield my gaze before I glimpse the unimaginable,  
scaring my mind with things of inexplicable nature.

Like the man with the X-ray eyes peering into the depths of the universe and spotting the curling monstrosity burning with a bright harsh light,  
the only light in that cloaked darkness, the abyss beyond time and space. And this bright inferno moves twisting and churning and _living_  
and it knows _oh god it knows_ you're watching. And, like him that sad cursed man, I will tear out my eyes, rip out my corneas and I will shriek,  
blood gushing from the gaping holes so dark and so deep;  
my crimson coated hands wrenching out ebony hair,  
I will scream,  
shrieking in horror

_I can still see! I can still fucking see. _

_

* * *

  
_

Bakura slaps me. And I am back from my lapse of thought.

"That's it. I'm taking you to the fucking hospital."

"N-No! No I don't need to-I-I'm fine. I swear. I'm fine. I-I just need to find my bearings. I just need a minute.  
Just one minute. Please. Please. Just hold me."

I look at him, my eyes pleading and my hands searching, yearning for his warmth.

And the coldness in his eyes melts. And I can see him bend, he reaches for me,  
taking my small body in his hands and lifting me up onto the satin blue age-stained couch.  
He perches beside me, holding my hand, and gives me a nod.

I sigh, relieved.

I take a minute to gather my wayward thoughts;  
To find a coherent stream in my meandering words.

I know it's time.  
Time to "come clean" confess my sins.  
I will tell him everything.

About me  
About Yami-  
Especially about Yami-  
And I will tell him about us. And what I hope we could be-  
What I wish we could be.  
If only my heart wasn't torn-  
Split  
Caught in Daedalus' twisting Labyrinth…

If only…

_

* * *

__Hello my constant readers,_

_I apologize yet again for my lengthy absence. I swear it was of necessity rather than pleasure…I swear._

_In this most recent chapter I make several references to certain…interesting pieces of works. I encourage you to discover such references and to consume them entirely.  
Eating their knowledge and their ideas…they may not be especially intellectual, or especially philosophical, but they are hardly worthless.__ One can never know what may be discovered in the pile of yesterday's trash….  
Who knows, they just might change your life…  
Just maybe…._

_Heh, they certainly changed mine,  
For better or for worse…_

_Well  
That can be debated. _

_Adieu until next chapter,_

_DerMonde_


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